Ode To New England

From the rocky beaches and ryegrass hills
To the snow covered mountains and the old logging mills
New England is rustic and proud in its ways
To give shelter to its citizens on its cold winter days
And on the slopes of Vermont and on the shores of Cape Cod
Whether you’re clasping your ski poles or your fishing rod
Or boating on Candlewood Lake
Or clearing out the autumn leaves with your oak handled rake
You cannot deny, that New England is a grand place
And not at all a ghastly disgrace
It is humble and welcoming to all that summon here
For days of value and friendly backyard deer
Five states all hand in hand
Original to all as it is the native land
At Plymouth, at Portland, at New London and Newport
Where history and culture have become as valuable as boats
And as the summer days are as hot as fire
You can do all that you desire
As a rescuing wind blows in from the west
And a beautiful day results from the best

A Magical Spot

Deep into the wood
Beyond a point of could
Lays a place of wonder and oddity
A place where the goodness comes in a great quantity
And there is no one to govern or judge
A place where beings can and may not hold a grudge
Against time of things or of each other
Where the overwhelming joy cannot be smothered
Such a place of fortune and luck can only bring positivity
No matter if you choose a spiritual activity
Creatures and plants roam and sway adjacent to you
In a green wind that meets with a creek so blue
That is running with potion to hallucify your needs
To reach deep into the enchanted soil to plant your seeds
Of life that are obtained through devotion to the magic of the location
And once you have entered such a place it is merely a dutiful vacation
An ode to yourself to indulge in the resources that guide you to Heaven

And in a book of spells you can find the right expression
To express a hint where the peace rolls wild
Such given and seen magic cannot be mild

The Midwest Wind

Over the grassy fields of the flat cold plains
Sweeps the midwest wind that riles up the grains
Of the elevators in the towns where the pastures line its edges
And that silver siren of the wind busts through the rose hedges
In Iowa or Nebraska the wheat sways and sings
Of songs that the old wind projects and rings
Out of the cotton clouds and into the dust
Forming roughly behind the old truck with rust
As it fights through that midwest air
And that siren yanks and sweeps the cows’ hair
The wind tells tales of warmth or ice
But no matter how you put it, it’s spring breeze is nice
No matter where you are in the midwest region
You can pledge yourself to its wind legion
What blows and swirls about
And churns the creeks that host the trout
That wind’s calling whistle and horn
Can be heard and felt throughout the fields of corn
Through any circumstance the wind shall blow
Throughout the midwest or anywhere you go